Have You Seen My Ghost?
by cathedral carver
Summary: You can't kill something that's already dead. Written for the 2010 Severus Sighs Grand Challenge.


**Title:** Have You Seen My Ghost?**  
Author**: cathedral carver**  
Pairing:** Severus and Hermione. And Severus.**  
Rating:** M**  
Warnings:** Character death and infidelity, of a sort.**  
Theme:** Overcoming adversity.**  
Prompt:** Death be not proud.

**Summary:** You can't kill something that's already dead.

Written for the 2010 Severus Sighs Grand Challenge.

...

_If a man harbours any sort of fear, it percolates through all his thinking, damages his personality, makes him landlord to a ghost.  
~Lloyd C. Douglas_

...

It was a Monday. Generally, he hated Mondays, but up until a certain point, it had been a very satisfactory Monday for a change.

He was thrusting into her writhing form for the third or fourth time, when she gave a great heaving gasp, followed by a sharp scream, and clutched hard at the skin on his back, her nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. He smirked and dipped his head, his lips grazing her ear.

"Like that, do you, you saucy wench? You haven't felt anything yet—"

"No, no," she panted as he drove in again and then once more, nearing his peak. She'd stopped moving completely, he realized, and was clutching him _so_ tightly now he could hardly move either, dammit. "It's not that, though it _was_ lovely, especially that thing you did with your pinky finger." Her voice was low and raspy, her eyes wide with something that strongly resembled not lust, but terror. "There's someone in the room."

"_What_?"

Snape reared back at that, twisting his head from side to side. The curtains were drawn against the late day sun and the room was quite dim, but yes, there _was_ someone there. The person, a decidedly _male_ person, was seated on the chair by the door, long legs crossed nonchalantly, hands resting on his knees, head tilted slightly. He was watching them, his face reposed and mildly interested, even in shadow.

"What the bloody hell?" Snape bellowed. He leaped off Hermione's sweaty body, covering her nakedness with a sheet as he wrapped a blanket around his waist. _Dear Merlin, where had he left his wand?_

"Who are you? How did you get in here? This house is warded—"

"Hello," the man cut in. "Don't mind me." He smiled, encouraging. "As you were."

"As we _were_?"

"Yes, please! Don't let me interrupt. It looked as though you had about, oh, six seconds remaining before an explosion of utter bliss, am I correct?"

He _was_ correct, but that was entirely beside the point.

"Listen here," Snape snarled, advancing in what he hoped was a menacing manner, despite his near-nakedness and the trailing blanket. "_You_ have exactly six seconds to vacate this room before I—"

"Severus," Hermione said quickly and something in her voice made Snape stop short and turn to look at her. "_Severus._" She was sitting bolt upright, her hands clutching the sheet to her chest. Even in the gloom he could see her saucer-sized eyes, the whiteness of her face, the tension in her open mouth. She looked as though she'd seen a—

He peered at the man, studied him. The long, lanky hair. The narrow, intelligent face. Large, yet distinguished and ruggedly handsome nose. The only thing missing was the scowl. Snape's mouth dropped.

"You're—"

The man nodded.

"You. Yes, I am."

Snape scowled.

"But, _I'm_ me."

"Yes, you are."

Snape scowled harder.

"So, you're…"

The man smiled, encouraging once again.

"…a Ghost," Snape finished.

"I am."

Snape swallowed, audibly.

"You're…_my_ Ghost."

"Yes!" The man was quite delighted.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "But…I'm not dead."

"No, not entirely."

"Not entirely?"

Snape heard a rustling beside him. Hermione appeared, smiling tentatively, dragging the sheet behind her. "Hello," she said to the man.

"Hello," said the Ghost. "Sorry for, you know," he waved a conciliatory hand, "the _coitus interruptus_."

"It's all right. You just surprised me."

"I completely understand." He sighed. "But, I am sorry. It looks like so much fun, all that."

"Sex?"

"Yes. That."

"It is!"

The Ghost sighed again.

Hermione tilted her tousled head. "I suppose you can't…?"

He shrugged. "Not sure. Never had the opportunity to try. Though," he tilted his head and he almost winked, "no one has exactly made me an offer. Yet."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione. Snape glared at her and made an impatient noise. She ignored him. "How long have you been…like this?"

"Well, let's see. Since…May 25, 1998."

"The Shrieking Shack," Snape said.

"Yes, that." The Ghost sighed. "What a horrible night." He shivered.

"Well, it wasn't exactly my idea of a fun time, either," Snape said drily. "But, I still don't understand. I didn't die that night in the Shrieking Shack." He paused. "As you can see."

"No, not entirely."

"Again with the 'not entirely'."

The Ghost frowned. He looked annoyed.

"_Part_ of you died," he said.

Snape's eyebrow moved higher."

"You see, you were _supposed_ to die. All of you. Completely." His gaze moved to Hermione. "It was all planned out, years in advance. You had no one, we thought, no one who cared, no one who loved you or cared whether you lived or died." Snape stiffened. "Until _she_ intervened."

Snape's gaze flickered to Hermione, who smiled up at him and swallowed audibly.

"Happy to have done it," she said, and Snape smirked. His Ghost did not.

"You hovered," he continued, "if you recall, for months, straddling the border, ready to fall either way. You eventually fell to the side of the living, but left bits and pieces of you in my world. Good bits, fortunately. Some friendliness, some warmth, some kindness and sensitivity."

"So, that's where it all went." Snape chortled.

"Apparently." The Ghost did not chortle. The two glared at one another.

"And what have you been doing for the past five years?" Snape asked.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Did some travelling. Haunted a few houses. But, I felt the pull here, and really, there are only so many séances in the world to attend, yes?"

"If you say so," Snape sniffed.

"I do. And so, here I am."

"So we see. And, how long do you plan to stay?"

"Well, it's difficult to say. I mean, until you die. Completely."

"Until I die."

"Yes."

"Do you…know when that unfortunate event will take place?" Snape asked rather nervously.

"Sadly, not. But I think it's pretty safe to say you're not going to linger into the twilight years."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you were mortally wounded — almost — by Nagini. You tasted my world. Once a body has placed even one foot over the border, the next visit is never that far behind."

"Good to know."

"Where will you be staying, then?" Hermione cut in, moving closer.

The Ghost gestured. "Here!"

"Here? With us?" Snape looked horrified. "You mean, permanently?"

"Well, I have nowhere else to go. I can't move on, and who else would want me? You're dying a bit each day — you all are — but you just happen to be a bit further along than most people."

"This is preposterous!" Snape sputtered. "I — we — have no use for a _Ghost_, mine or otherwise. I do not need a daily reminder of my mortality, thank you very much."

The Ghost shrugged, as if to say: "Bugger it. You have no say in the matter!"

"Well, of course you can stay here," Hermione said, squeezing Snape's arm. He glared down at her tangled hair, aghast. She frowned up at him. "Be polite. He's _your Ghost_, Severus."

Snape sputtered, apoplectic. "That may very well be, but—"

"It's settled, then!" The Ghost grinned. Positively grinned. He grinned, specifically, at Hermione. Hermione, despite herself, grinned back.

...

"Must he come?" Snape growled as they maneuvered through the throngs of shoppers in Diagon Alley that Saturday.

Hermione cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. Ghost Snape was walking several feet behind them, seemingly enamoured by everything he saw. Hermione couldn't help but smile at his excitement.

"What harm, Severus? No one's even taking notice, really." She smiled as Ghost Snape stopped to gape at the storefront of the Magical Menagerie. "And, he's not bothering us.

"Not you, perhaps. But me? Most definitely."

"Why?"

"He's so…_cheerful_." Snape scowled. "It's annoying."

Hermione almost laughed, except it wasn't particularly funny. She squeezed Snape's arm, leaned up to kiss his cheek: he balked, pulled away slightly. He hated public displays of affection. Hermione sighed.

"I think he's lonely, Severus."

Snape sighed. "Then perhaps we must hold a dinner party. Introduce him to some kindred spirits."

"Maybe you should get to know him a little."

"I want nothing to do with him." Snape spat. "And I'd prefer you to ignore him, as well."

"Why?" Hermione pulled her hand free at last, her irritation reaching a peak.

Snape stopped, folded his arms tightly across his chest, regarded Hermione with his best Professor Gaze.

"He's dead, Hermione. He's waiting for me to…_die_. He has nothing to teach us, nothing to share." He paused, swallowed. "He's evil."

"I think that's a bit melodramatic," Hermione argued. "He's been nothing but kind and gentle."

Snape held himself even tighter.

"Be that as it may, he's a…curse and nothing…_nothing_ good can come of a curse."

...

Try as she might, Hermione could not be overtly rude to the Ghost. He hovered, he waited, he smiled at her, tentatively, and his smile was so sweet, so warm, so _sexy_.

"Would you like some?" she asked, indicating the food laid out on the small kitchen table. Snape was bent over his plate, doing his utmost best to ignore both of them.

"Oh, I would, but I can't. Thank you."

Hermione spooned some peas and chicken onto her plate. She poured herself a glass of wine.

"Can you smell it?" she asked.

"Very faintly." The Ghost watched each mouthful as it moved from plate to fork to mouth with a fascination that bordered on obsessive.

"Would you like me to describe it?" she asked. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Very much," said the Ghost.

"Well, the peas are…overcooked, as usual. They are…soft. Squishy. Plant-like. I love them, but only with plenty of butter and pepper and salt."

"Mmm," said the Ghost, resting an elbow on the table. "Divine."

"Merlin," said Snape.

"The chicken? It's…hmm." Hermione paused. "It's harder to describe. Thick. Tender. Fleshy, but in a good way. A _very_ good way—"

"Go on," said the Ghost in a ragged whisper.

"Enough!" yelled Snape, slamming his fork down with enough force to make the table shake. "You!" He jabbed his finger at the Ghost. "You're dead, right? You don't _need_ anyone describing how food tastes. And you!" He jabbed the finger at Hermione. "You…you stop. Just. Stop."

He pushed himself back from the table, strode from the room on rather unsteady legs.

"Severus—" Hermione said, but only the Ghost turned to look at her.

Hermione sighed.

"Well," said the Ghost.

"Yes," said Hermione. She sighed. She picked up her fork. She speared another piece of chicken and brought it to her mouth. She smiled. "Now, where were we?"

...

He kissed her neck, her chin, suckled on her earlobe, which always made her gasp, moved slowly down the side of her neck to her smooth collarbone.

"Yes, yes," Hermione sighed, winding her fingers into his hair. Snape moved above her, into her, his hands doing the most marvelous things to her—

"Does that feel good?" he whispered.

"So good," she replied.

"What else do you like?" he whispered.

"Would you kindly leave?" Snape bellowed, at which the Ghost, hovering at Hermione's side, mouth at her ear, huffed, made a sad face and vanished.

"Finally!" Snape said. He moved to kiss her, but Hermione held his anxious lips at bay with her hands on his shoulders.

"What?"

"Well, really, Severus? What harm is there? So, he likes to watch."

"He likes to watch."

"What harm? Tell me! He's _dead_!"

"It's…kinky."

"So? He's a _dead_ kinky ghost."

"Hermione—"

"You're so bloody uptight!"

"And you're a wanton exhibitionist!"

She laughed.

"Now, where were we?" Snape said as he nuzzled her neck. When Hermione opened her eyes again, he — the Ghost — was back, leaning against the wall, watching her with dark eyes. His hand, she suddenly noticed, was positioned over his crotch, moving slowly and deliberately, in time with Snape's own thrusts.

Yes, he mouthed, deliberately. Yes. You like that? Do you?

Yes.

Yes.

_Yes_.

When she came, hard, she was looking at a dead man.

...

"Is he gone?" the Ghost said on Monday morning, seating himself beside her. She was curled over her notebooks at the kitchen table with a mug of steaming tea. Monday was her day off from teaching and she was preparing lesson plans for the week.

"He is." She smiled. "Please don't let him intimidate you. He's really very…sweet."

"Sweet?" The Ghost huffed. "You mean scary, don't you?"

Hermione smiled. "Can be. I'm used to him, of course. But in school?" She shuddered.

"I can only imagine."

"Don't get me wrong, he was a wonderful teacher, but rather—"

"Intimidating."

"Yes." She laughed. "You're right." She studied him. He studied her. She blushed. He did not. "But you…you're—"

"—completely different."

"I've noticed."

"I've noticed you noticing."

Hermione smiled, looked down at her books.

"I've noticed a lot of things in the short time I've been here," he went on. "For instance, I've noticed how beautiful you are. And how grumpy he is. And how he takes you for granted. And how you adore him. And how you like to be noticed, and appreciated. And how you hold your tongue when he argues with you, or contradicts you. How you want to please him, and how he tries to please you, but doesn't always get it quite right—"

"May I touch you?" she interrupted.

The Ghost stopped. He smiled, openly.

"Of course."

She reached out a hand, slightly trembling. Her fingers brushed his cheek.

"Can you feel this?" she asked.

The Ghost closed his eyes.

He felt…cool. Not cold or icy like the ghosts at Hogwarts. Almost, but not quite tangible, like pushing on a sodden sponge. She could almost feel his skin. It felt as though he'd just emerged from a swim in Black Lake.

"Yes," he said, leaning into her hand. Hermione's hand moved from his cheek to his jawline, to his neck. The Ghost shivered.

"Can you feel this?" she said, leaning in and brushing her lips against his chin.

"Oh," said the Ghost.

"This?" She kissed his jaw, his cheek, then his lips. He kissed her back, best he could.

"And, this?" Her tongue in his mouth, so cold and so warm, both — a truly odd sensation. Her hand moved involuntarily to between her legs.

"I can. I can feel it. It feels…_heavenly_."

She smiled. How wrong could it be, really? It wasn't as if she was cheating on Severus. This _was_ Severus.

Wasn't it?

...

Snape and his Ghost did their best to avoid one another, but run-ins in their cramped living quarters were inevitable.

"Out of my way!" Snape yelled as he rounded the corner from his bath and found the Ghost lounging in the hall.

Or:

"Don't make me hex you! Hermione? Fetch my wand!"

Or:

"Why are you still _here_?" Snape growled as he threw a newspaper across the room. It sailed through him, hit the wall opposite.

"I live here."

"You're a vulture. You're just waiting for me to—"

"Severus," Hermione cut in. She took his hand and lead him down the hallway to the bedroom, casting a backwards glance over her shoulder at the Ghost. "It's not his fault. You know this."

"Nor is it mine."

"He's part of you."

"The best part, apparently."

"What do you mean?"

She sat him on the bed, rubbed his shoulders.

"The best parts of me died that night, any scraps of kindness, of empathy, of gentleness — all those bits died and formed themselves into _him_. And here I am, in the flesh, so to speak, brimming with even more bitterness and acrimony than before."

"That's not true, Severus." She kissed his lips. He did not respond. She tried again and again, until at last his lips moved beneath hers and his moved under her jumper, lifted it, found her breasts.

She unbuttoned him, moved her skirt aside, straddled his legs, moved with a languid pace. Snape closed his eyes, clutched her rolling hips. When he opened his eyes, he gasped. His Ghost was kneeling on the bed, his hands cupping Hermione's bare breasts, his mouth at her throat.

"Wait…wait—" Snape murmured, but very little sound emerged from his suddenly dry throat. Hermione was rocking harder and harder, head tilted back as the ghost's hands cradled her breasts, his lips moved up and down her neck in time to Snape's thrusts. He was very close, so close, and watching Hermione and, well, himself, put him over the edge. Hermione moaned, caught her bottom lip in her teeth, raised her arms and tangled her fingers in the ghost's hair. She cried out, shuddered, slowed. The ghost smiled released her breasts, moved back. His gaze caught Snape's. He smiled.

"That was…" Hermione caught her breath and opened her eyes. "Thank you," was all she said, but in the near dark, Snape wasn't sure at all who she was addressing.

When Snape finally spoke, however, he knew exactly who he was talking to:

"I swear to Merlin I'd kill you if—"

The Ghost smiled.

"—I wasn't already dead."

...

Then he disappeared, as much as a Ghost can disappear. One day, two, then five.

She was eating, but not really. Picking, more like it, and her eyes kept moving about the room, searching out dark corners and shadowed crevices.

"When was the last time we saw him?"

Snape finished chewing and swallowed. He shrugged. "Why?"

"A week, at least. Maybe more."

"All right. If you say so."

"I'm worried about him."

"Worried?"

"Yes."

Snape snorted. "He's…he's _dead_, Hermione. What on earth do you think is going to happen to him?"

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't."

"He said you'd say that."

"Did he."

"You don't…you don't understand anything—"

"Really? Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Well, it's only that he…your ghost…he's rather…sweet, really."

Snape snorted, unsweetly. "Please."

"He _is_, Severus. He's gentle and kind and is interested in all sorts of things. We have the most marvelous talks—"

"Hermione." Snape interrupted, his eyes very dark and menacing. "It sounds suspiciously as though…you're falling _in love_…"

"No!"

"Yes. You're falling in love with—"

"You. Just you."

"No, not me. My Ghost."

"Same thing."

"Isn't, I'm afraid. In case you haven't noticed, I'm still very much _here_, in the land of the living."

"Severus says—"

"_Who_?"

Hermione flushed. "The Ghost. Your Ghost."

Snape could only stare, slightly open-mouthed.

"Anyway, he says, you simply need to open yourself to the possibility of the next world…the inevitability of your eventual passing. He says you're simply frightened by him."

Snape closed his mouth, looked away.

"He's really very intelligent."

"I'm sure he is." Snape drawled. "After all, he's part of _me_, isn't he?"

...

"Is he gone?" the Ghost asked another Monday morning as he settled into the chair beside her. It was raining, hard, grey, unrelenting.

Hermione jumped, then smiled. Grinned.

"You're back."

"I am."

"You're all right?"

"I am."

The ghost moved closer, cupped his cheek in his hand, smiled at Hermione.

"I'm _so_ happy to see you."

"And I, you."

She smiled. Moved closer. Pressed her lips against his, pressed her hand against his crotch.

She grinned.

"Now, where were we?"

...

The day before the last, another Monday he realized much later, he arrived home an hour early and heard the noises, the unmistakable sounds of _fucking_ emanating from the bedroom.

_His_ bedroom.

He stood in the doorway of his bedroom and watched himself fucking Hermione from across the room. His Ghost had style, he had to admit, and Hermione certainly seemed to be enjoying herself.

Bloody _Mondays._

Snape seated himself on the chair by the door, crossed his legs, and waited.

When it was over, she looked up and saw him.

"Snape," she said.

"Granger. Don't let me interrupt."

"Oh, it's quite all right," the Ghost said. "We're done."

"Right." Snape stood.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To pack my belongings." He moved across the room to the bureau, opened a drawer. "Three's a crowd, and all that, you know."

"But, you don't have to—"

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

He smiled, bitterly.

"As you were."

...

And later, at the front door:

"Well, then," he said.

"Yes. Well." She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, smoothed her hastily arranged clothing around her hips.

Snape hefted his bag. "I wish you only the best, Hermione."

"And I, you," she whispered, near tears. "I wish you'd reconsider. Please. Severus. We could be so happy. _All_ of us."

He considered for a moment, considered the years ahead. How many? Not even the Ghost knew, for sure. He sighed.

"It's impossible, I'm afraid. I can't compete. Not sure I want to even try."

He bent and kissed her cheek. She smelled, oddly, like Black Lake. Then, he turned and left.

Hermione closed her eyes, felt the prickle of tears behind her eyelids. Then, cold hands in her hair, along the sides of her face, cold breath on her skin.

"Oh, my darling," she said and turned and pressed her warm lips to his cold ones.

He smiled.

"Now, where were we?"

...

_-30-_

*Title and summary from "Weighty Ghost" by Wintersleep.


End file.
